


Unintended

by doctorrsong



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorrsong/pseuds/doctorrsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle's dream has long been to get her library in good enough shape to open its doors to the public. She works at it constantly and without fail. While sorting, she finds something in a book that will do more than simply break up the monotony of her life. (AU-- modern day Belle is transported to the Enchanted Forest. High rating for later chapters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The library was very nearly silent, and just as nearly deserted. The only sounds that could be heard over the pressing silence were a low, off-tune hum, and the occasional smack of a pile of books hitting the floor. The lights were dim, many of them flickering and in need of replacement bulbs. The occasional electrical buzz added to the humming voice. Every window was boarded up, and had been thus for years. The place was in disrepair and in need of serious attention. The cobwebs were likely thick enough to trap a small mouse. Or a large rat.

Belle, oblivious to the rest of the library, was organising the stacks, earbuds firmly in place and music blaring as she worked. She was determined to get the place open by the time summer rolled around, and this year she wouldn’t be deterred. The work was tedious and repetitive, but she didn’t mind it. This was where she belonged. She was at peace when she was surrounded by books. She could spend so much time quietly fingering her way through long forgotten treasures. Anything she wanted to read, she could. The library was hers.

Luckily, she could organise the books more quickly than she could read them. She had a long list she planned to take out once her task was completed, and she kept it folded up in her pocket; a pen tucked behind her ear for the likely occasion she found something else she wanted to add to it. She was curious about everything, finding tomes she was interested in from almost each section.

Her papa had wanted to sell the library, desperate to get her out of the dusty, musky place, but he was afraid and reluctant to do it. He knew, as Belle had made it very clear, that there would be hell to pay if her baby was taken away from her. It had been her dream for so long to open the place back up, to honour her grandfather—who had run the library when he had been alive. It had been something of a legend while he was living, but had quickly crumbled after his death. None in the family had been interested in looking after it, letting it fall into poor shape. She could only be thankful that there worst of her worries was dust and not water-damage.

Having given up on trying to pull her from the library, her papa tried to visit her when he knew she would be spending long hours alone. He tended to bring her food, knowing that when she became focused, she forgot silly things like the need to eat. Her appetite seemed to fade to the back of her mind when she was engrossed in her work.

Tonight, however, she found herself starving, and she hoped her father would choose this night as one to visit her. She took out her headphones and absently wrapped them around her phone before sticking the whole thing in her back pocket. Her legs were stiff and she didn’t want to leave. Leaving would require finding her coat, and she couldn’t remember where she had left it. It had to be somewhere near the door, but she always dropped it in different places, only ever taking it off when she warmed up enough to do so.

Rising slowly, Belle groaned when her knees popped. She stretched her arms over her head, her joints protesting the action as she rose up on her toes, and she heard her back pop too.

“I’m getting too old for this,” she muttered, pressing her hand to her lower back and rubbing at the tender muscles there.

“I’m sure if you gave Gaston a chance at a date, he’d be happy to give you a backrub,” her papa’s voice said. She only jumped a little at his sudden appearance—which was a major improvement from how much she’d screamed the first time—and she grinned when she saw the Tupperware container he held. He looked tired and worried, but he always looked that way when he came to visit her. It was something she didn’t like but had learned to accept. She was his little girl, and he would always worry.

“And I’m sure that wouldn’t be the only thing he’d be happy to give me, papa,” she retorted, kissing his cheek as he rolled his eyes at her and pressed the warm container into her hands. Gaston was the last person she wanted to spend time alone with. Her father was constantly trying to get her to go out with him, to give him a chance, and she couldn’t understand why he was so fond of the man.

“This section is starting to look good,” he encouraged, ignoring her jab at Gaston.

She knew he was lying, but she appreciated the effort he put into trying to cheer her up. She let him lead her to the table they had set up a few weeks before, and sank gratefully into the chair he held out for her. “Thanks, papa.”

“My girl,” he sighed, sitting down himself and regarding her seriously. Her heart sank. He was going to lecture her. She knew that look. She knew that tone. She wasn’t wrong. “I think you should take a break, love. You’re starting to look pale and there are bags under your eyes. I know you forget to eat when I can’t make it here.”

“Papa…”

“I’m not saying forever, darling. You’ve been here every night for the past month.” His words embarrassed her. She was an adult, but she knew that not bothering to take care of herself was childishness of the worst kind.

She looked down at the unopened container quietly. “I don’t mean to worry you, papa. This is just so important to me and I lose track of time and—“

“I know it is, my girl,” he murmured, reaching across the table to cover her smaller hand with his great paw. “But _you_ are important to me. I know you’ll do as you wish, and I won’t stop you, but at least consider what I’m asking. Take a few days off, and then come back to it. Think about it.” he patted her hand, and she wanted to cry at how understanding he could be despite the raging arguments they sometimes had.

She slipped her hand from his and busied herself with getting the container open. “I’ll think about it,” she promised. Possibly a break really would do her good. His grin lit up his face, and she laughed when he came across the table to kiss the top of her head. They spoke of his day for a bit after her response pleased him into talking, but he left her shortly after. He was never able to stay very long, his business endeavours keeping him impossibly busy. She also suspected that he was afraid she’d rope him into helping her sort books. If anything, she’d get him to put some paint down.

Leaning back in her chair, Belle set her food in her lap and put her feet up on the table. She ate the stir-fry her papa had whipped up slowly, chewing unhurriedly and savouring the meal as she considered the library. It didn’t _look_ like she had made much progress, but she knew it would eventually come together in a big way. It was just frustrating to reap such little fruit for all her labor.

Belle seriously started considering her father’s suggestion as she finished eating. It would clear her head and breakup the monotony of being here all the time if she avoided the place for a couple of days. That final thought decided her. With a smile, she returned to the pile she had been sorting through. She felt lighter than she had in a long time, and the task was less daunting than it had seemed before now that the thought of a break had implanted itself.

As she was placing a book on the shelf, something shiny caught her eye. It fell from the book and hit the floor with a quiet little ‘clack’ before it bounced once. She followed it curiously, her books forgotten as she crouched to get a closer look at the gleaming thing. What she had first thought to be a marble now looked like—“a bean?” she muttered, reaching her hand out.

A sudden flash of light blinded her, and she fell back on her arse, shrieking when brilliant green light enveloped her. She tried to scramble back, away from it, but whatever it was had a hold on her. Everything became wrapped in that dazzling light. She could see nothing but green, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to hide them from the intensity of the glare when it started to hurt. Harsh wind whipped her hair across her face, and her limbs felt as though they were being pulled in every direction for a long, grueling moment until it stopped and she suddenly hit the floor hard.

“Ow,” Belle groaned, reaching down blindly to touch her knee as she rolled onto her back. It had taken most of the impact, and she was almost positive she’d heard something crack. As her eyes slowly began to adjust, recovering from the light, she felt moisture through her jeans. She gingerly pressed her fingers to her kneecap and winced at the pain that followed.

Slowly, the ceiling began to come into focus, and she forgot about the pain in her knee in preference of her shock at her surroundings. “What…?” she whispered, sitting up sharply. She jerked her gaze around, unable to grasp the idea that the only things she could recognize were the books. Her breath came in short, erratic gasps as she stared. This was a library, but it wasn’t _her_ library. “ _What?_ ”

She pressed her shaking hands to her eyes, and bent her head, trying to catch her breath and avoid the hyperventilating she could feel coming on. She needed to figure out where she was, and she wouldn’t be able to do that if she passed out. She stayed like that for a long moment, drawing slow, purposeful breaths until she could do it without having to think about it. Gradually, she lowered her hands.

“The bean was a magic bean,” she said quietly. She pushed herself up slowly, trying to keep her weight off of her knee as she did so. She said it again, trying to wrap her head around the idea. Her brain refused to accept her words, attempting instead to come up with something more logical; something more tangible. She came up with nothing. One moment she had been in _her_ library, and now she was in _this_ library.

The room was large and circular, and the ceiling was high like a church’s ceiling. She thought there might be windows behind the heavy material covering the wall, but she didn’t think long on it, looking instead for a way out. She spotted a railing and limped over to it, her hands coming out to steady herself when she finally reached the staircase. As curious as she was to see what books the room contained, she had enough sense to know that figuring out where she was took first priority.

She patted her back pocket, remembering that she had tucked her phone there, and groaned when she pulled it out to find a broken screen. She tried turning it on anyway, but it countered her efforts stubbornly. It didn’t even attempt to give her any hope, continuing to persist as a silent black screen.

“Godamnit!” she hissed, losing her temper and chucking it across the room. It hit the wall with a noise that echoed loudly. She winced, reminding herself to keep herself in check until she could find her bearings. She just had to find someone who could tell her where she was, and who could direct her back home. She didn’t need them thinking she was some lunatic when she wanted them to help her.

Getting down the stairs was a pain in the ass, and she was muttering darkly when she finally reached the bottom. Who needed so many stairs? Was she in a castle? She’d never been in one before, but this was certainly what she imagined it to be like. Dark, forbidding, and cold. She’d had to descend a long, spiralled staircase, so that gave her the impression that she’d been in a tower.

Maybe she had tripped on a book and smacked her head on the edge of the table in the library after her papa left. There was no other way for her brain to reconcile this level of fucked-up, and it really seemed to be the most logical explanation. Magic bean, indeed.

The pain in her leg certainly felt real enough, though. She’d never experienced pain in a dream before. Well, not that she could remember. Wasn’t the body supposed to wake itself up in such cases? Maybe she was in a coma.

Belle shook the thought away, focusing instead on her objective. She needed to find a person. Or heat. She shivered as she braced her hand on the stone wall. It helped her walk, but it was unpleasantly cold. In no time at all, she couldn’t feel her fingers. Her toes were much the same. Her nose was running, and her sniffles sounded ridiculously loud to her as they echoed off the walls.

Just as she was considering sinking to the floor and giving up, she noticed a golden glow up ahead. Was that fire? Her excitement had her ignoring her pain and she shuffled quickly. _Fire fire fire,_ her brain chanted, locking on the thought of being warm again.

When she reached the room from which the glow was emanating, she stumbled inside, realising all at once that it wasn’t really a room, but a hall. It was already a bit warmer than the rest of the castle, and she spotted the fire glowing. She checked herself instead of rushing over to it. There was a chair pulled close to the dancing flames, and she saw a man’s legs stretched close to it.  

“Excuse me?” she called, deciding against striding up to him, and hoping her voice didn’t startle him.

One moment Belle was standing in the doorway, and the next she found herself outside the hall, her back slammed against the wall behind her and the air being shoved out of her lungs from the force of the impact. There was a hand wrapped around her throat preventing her from trying to regain the breath she had lost, and her panicked gaze met the one staring back at her.

Glassy, inhuman black eyes that seemed to suck in and reflect all light stared at her furiously from a dark face, and she reached up to claw at his forearm. She needed air. She needed to breathe. Black spots clouded her vision. _What was he?_ The pressure endured for long, agonising seconds before it finally lessened, allowing her to suck in much needed air. Her vision cleared, and she thought she could see the light from the hall shining off his skin. It looked iridescent, and her muddled, tired brain fixated on it. The hand remained at her neck.

The man tittered suddenly, and the sound sent a chill down her spine. “How did you get in here?” he purred, his voice excited and high. His other hand came up to touch her face. She didn’t miss the sharp claws that tipped his fingers, and she winced when he ran one slowly down her cheek. It wasn’t hard enough to cut her, but it was enough to let her know that he could.

When she didn’t start speaking, he pressed harder. “I-I don’t know!” she gasped, her hands clenching around his wrist. Her legs felt like jelly. She realised that his grip was the only thing keeping her up. Suddenly, she felt lightheaded, and her vision swam, making him blur. She had to blink to refocus.

“You don’t know,” he repeated. “Did the _queen_ send you to spy on me?” another snicker that sounded anything but pleasant had her mind tripping over itself as it tried to catch up with the danger of her situation. This man with the shimmery skin and coal black eyes was clearly more than just a man, and she needed to start talking if she wanted to survive this encounter.

“O-one second I was in my library,” she stuttered, “and the next I was in yours. There was a bean and green light and I—“

“A bean?” he hissed, his hand tightening on her neck and cutting her off. He was inches away from her face now, and his eyes seemed to blur together because of his proximity. She couldn’t focus. His other hand slammed into the wall next to her head, drawing her attention back to his question.

A nod was the only response she could give him. Her hands slid from his arm weakly, dropping dully to her sides.

He snarled, shaking her. “And you used it? You _stupid_ girl.” He released his hold, backing away from her in something like disgust. His earlier sniggering had disappeared completely. “Do you have any idea what you held in your foolish hands?”

Without his grip, Belle’s legs gave out. She sank down against the wall, unable to answer as her blood loss caught up with her and the pain in her knee flared. It sent such agony through her that her brain shut it out, protecting her by plunging her into darkness. She knew nothing more of the crazed, furious creature in front of her as she slipped into sweet oblivion.  


	2. Chapter 2

Waking slowly, Belle groaned at the pain that gradually began to assault her senses. It started as a slow ache before blooming across the inside of her skull like wildfire lighting everything in its path. She reached up and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, moaning at the pounding behind her closed lids. She clenched her teeth against the throbbing and slowly lowered her hands.

 Opening her eyes hurt, but the room was dark enough that the dim light didn’t extremely jar her. She groaned, taking in the stone ceiling glaring down at her. Her breath caught as her brain caught up with what she was seeing. No. Way. Stone ceiling?

 _That_ was a dream. She was awake now. Stone ceilings were dream ceilings. They had no place in real life. And yet… the stone remained unchanged above her.

That meant—she swallowed with difficulty—that everything that had happened was real. The bean, her knee, and the terrifying man-who-was-not-a-man were all real.

She squeezed her eyes shut again against the tears that were starting to sting them before rubbing her face in frustration. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything. She could do that later. Her head was still pounding, but the ache was subsiding into a dull throb. She wondered if she had smacked her skull on the floor after fainting. It certainly felt like the case.

She sat up, leaning back against the stone, and tentatively touched her fingers to the back of her head as she looked around. Big shock. She was in a dungeon. The room was small, the only thing in it the small pallet she had been sleeping on. She poked around her head for a moment until she felt a tender bump. Well, that explained the pain at least. Having ascertained that damage, she turned her attention to her leg. She hadn’t looked at her knee before and she knew it would be a good idea to know how bad it was considering the pain it caused her before. She didn’t know how much time she had spent unconscious, and there were no windows to show her what time of day it was.

As her eyes travelled down her leg, she found a gaping hole in the knee of her jeans and her pant leg was stiff with blood. _A lot_ of blood. Panic suddenly seized her at the sight of gore and she tore at the hole in the material, ignoring the harsh sound of denim ripping. The only thing she found was smooth skin under caked blood.

Belle stared at her leg blankly, uncomprehending. Where was the wound? She pressed her fingers against her knee, poking everywhere. There wasn’t even a bruise. How was that possible? From the amount of blood and the pain she had experienced yesterday, she had been certain that bone had fractured and skin had torn.

She shrieked when the door suddenly slammed open, resounding sharply against the wall and making her scramble back to the very corner of her pallet.

Her eyes were huge as the not-man who had jumped her before strode in. The way he stalked into the room reminded her of a cat—and from the way his eyes pinned her—she belatedly realised that she was the mouse.

“Finally awake,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but it made her feel like she should have some kind of response. He moved on before she could open her mouth. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he waved a hand absently at her leg. “I’ve healed your wound.”

She frowned at him dubiously. Well, a bean had gotten her here. She supposed his statement wasn’t so farfetched if she kept that in mind. But why would he waste time on healing her when he had seemed perfectly willing to kill her before?

He made an exasperated gesture. “A bit of gratitude, girl!” he scolded. His hands moved strangely in front of him before he pointed at her. She jumped, somehow expecting to be turned into a toad. Nothing happened, but a wide, malicious grin that revealed his stained teeth curled his mouth when he saw her stiffen. She resolved to steel herself against his odd mannerisms. Perhaps he could sense fear like animals could. He seemed to revel in her discomfort, but he didn’t terrify her like he did before.

When he had pinned her to the wall, he had been like a caged animal lashing out to protect itself. Now he looked to be calm and completely at ease. The light was still dim, but she had a chance to study him better. He wasn’t as tall or as imposing as she had first supposed, but she knew the power his slender limbs held. He had no need of stature to make an impression.

Dark, wavy hair framed his face, but his eyes once more held her captive. She saw now that they weren’t black, but that an amber light seemed to shine from the depths of them. It was unsettling to meet his eyes, so her gaze dropped to his chest. What was he wearing? Sharp spikes came from the overcoat he donned, and the piece looked heavily armoured. The high collar reached his cheeks and she wondered how he could stand it. She couldn’t even handle soft sweaters whose collars reached high on her neck. Layer upon layer covered him from neck to boot. He looked like something come out of the dark ages.

“Now that you haven’t died,” he continued slowly, interrupting her examination. Her eyes hesitantly lifted to his, and he deadpanned when she remained silent. “And still continue to be ungrateful, clearly,” he huffed. “We shall move to the question and answer period of our game." He struck a queer pose that seemed to amuse him, but she ignored it.

“You’re not going to kill me?” she interrupted.

He puffed his cheeks out, his hands flickering in front of him. “I shall if you continue to interrupt me, dearie. Has no one taught you _manners_?” He scoffed. His tone sounded playful, but somehow she knew that her next interruption wouldn’t end in anything as pleasant as a verbal warning. His boot heels hit the stone flooring harshly as he stalked closer to her. The dim light caught the shiny leather adorning his legs as he walked, but she kept her eyes on his face. Everything about him screamed _predator_ from the way his eyes remained purposely fixed on her to his deceptively calm stance. It told her to be on her guard, and she quickly stood from the bed. Her head swam, but she pushed through it, spreading her feet and holding her ground. She refused to be easy prey.

He stopped in his tracks, a frown pulling down his lips and his brows drawing together as she faced him. Her legs felt like they were tingling and her palms felt sweaty—her brain trying to figure out if she could flee, but he kept himself between her and the door, effectively cutting off her plans. His hands fluttered around him in what seemed to be a nervous gesture, but he didn’t come any closer, instead regarding her from under his lashes.

“How did you get in?” he began, steepling his fingers together under his chin and watching her intently. It seemed to be the only thing that could still his hands. It was almost impossible to think when his limbs were constantly flitting about, and his immobility allowed her to focus more easily on what he wanted.

She considered telling him that she had already answered that question, but bit the inside of her cheek instead. Now was not the time for sarcasm. Her papa always told her to keep her temper in check, and his voice resounded clearly in that moment, telling her to be careful with how she approached this creature. Perhaps he just wanted to see if she would stick to the same story she had given before. Perhaps he was trying to catch her in a lie. Belle was no liar. “There was a bean and a light,” she said finally. “One moment I was in my library, and the next I was in yours.”

Belle remembered how furious he had become at the mention of the bean before, and her words now seemed to have the same effect on him. His eyes darkened and his hands lowered. He clasped them in front of him as though he were imagining them around her neck instead. The thought was more than a little unsettling. He looked ready to pounce, each of his muscles tightly coiled. She squared her shoulders, ready to at least try at defending herself. This time, however, he kept his distance.

“And…” he hesitated before tapping his finger over his lips. Her attention was drawn to his dark claws. She resisted the urge to subconsciously touch her cheek where he had scratched her before. Had he left a mark, or had he healed that, too? “Where did you find this… bean?” he grimaced as he held his thumb and index finger apart, approximating the size of the bean rather well.

“It fell from a book,” she said honestly. It was a simple answer, but she could tell from the moment the words left her lips that they had displeased him. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. Because she was watching him, she couldn’t miss it.

“From a book,” he muttered quietly. She thought he looked very tired in that moment. The restless energy he had radiated upon first coming into the room seemed to evaporate. “Tell me,” he seemed to hesitate, but his voice was unchanged as he asked, “is there magic in your homeland?”

“I didn’t know magic existed until I found that bean.” She couldn’t say that magic didn’t exist when that bean was clearly magic. But she had never experienced it or believe in it until she had been hauled into it.

His lips pulled down in a frightful scowl, and before she could wonder at what had upset him, he turned on his booted heel, coat whipping out behind him with a snap.

Her heart sank as she realised his intent and rushed to chase after him. “Surely you’re not going to leave me here!” she cried desperately. She had cooperated! She ran into the door as it swung shut behind him, banging her foot on the wood. “I answered your questions!”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, dearie,” he tittered, his voice muffled through the door. “I never agreed to grant you freedom in exchange for playing along with my game. You’d do well to remember specificity in deal making next time.”

Hammering her fist on the door, Belle shouted every obscenity she knew as she heard his cackle becoming quieter, leaving her to the solitude of her imprisonment. She was afraid of him, but she was more afraid of dying alone in a cold dungeon cell. This was not what she’d had in mind when she’d wished for something to distract her from the library.

Frustrated, she stomped back to the pallet. It was hard and uncomfortable, but she felt tired from all that had happened. Her hand was numb from pounding on the door, her headache was returning, and she had no idea how long it had been since her last meal. Her conversation with her captor had thoroughly drained her. She stretched out on her back, glaring wrathfully at the stone ceiling that had first tipped her off to her miserable predicament as if it were its fault.

She wasn’t aware of slipping into a fitful sleep until she found herself jerking awake, her limbs kicking out and her breath coming in a short gasp. Something had woken her up, but she didn’t know what it was. Had she heard something? Felt something?

“Hello?” she hissed, her voice heavy with sleep. Her eyes darted around uncertainly. The torch outside her cell that had provided light through the small set of bars in the wood seemed to have gone out. She spent anxious moments sitting up on the pallet, her knees pulled up to her chest as she tried to warm herself. She felt like she’d be cold forever.

Light suddenly flooded her cell and she jumped up, pressing against the wall fearfully. She wished she had some kind of weapon to defend herself with. She’d settle for anything she could swing. Nothing happened. Seconds rolled on quietly.

Belle’s shoulders slumped. She chastised herself for her fear and turned back to the ‘bed’, stopping in her tracks when she saw the tray set at the foot of it. Upon it, there was an assortment of cheese and meat, and a small loaf of bread along with a small cup and pitcher of water. She looked around again, her brows knitting together. Had the food been brought to her magically?

She considered making a show of overturning the tray, but a pang in her stomach quickly reminded her of how hungry she actually was. She sat down on the bed and pulled the tray towards her, a gasp leaving her as she realised it had been set on a folded blanket. She was up in a moment, wrapping herself in its warmth and shivering delightfully. It felt like it had come out of a dryer. Perhaps that was just a testament to how cold she had been.

She plopped down on the bed again, trying to not be too pleased. She was still locked up, in any case, and there was no reason for her to be thankful to her captor. If he’d let her go free, she wouldn’t have been starving in the first place, and she could have provided food for herself.

Nevertheless, her heart still felt lighter as she tucked in. The meal was simple, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had appreciated anything so thoroughly. Everything seemed to melt on her tongue. She drank greedily, eyes rolling back as the water quenched a thirst she hadn’t even been aware of.

After she had had her fill and set the tray down on the floor, she curled in on herself. Her shoes were next to the tray and her feet were tucked into the blanket. Surrounded by her little cocoon of warmth, she was able to fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

Belle spent her days sleeping. She wished desperately for something to occupy her time, but her captor didn’t return to the cell after their conversation about the bean. She yelled through the door every time she woke up, devoting as much time as she could, until her throat burned and her mouth dried, and hoping she’d eventually catch his attention. Castles echoed, didn’t they? He couldn’t ignore her forever. She wasn’t a damsel he could just keep tucked away. She wanted out.

The regular meals she got were her only indication of how much time passed, and she figured she’d been locked up for three days. The meals were always near the door when she wakened up. She still wasn’t sure if it was by magic or if he had servants to cater to his prisoner’s needs.

What was the point of her being locked up if he had nothing else he wanted from her? She had given him the information he wanted willingly, so why keep her here and have to take care of her? Her solitude gave her ample time to think, and to get irritated, and she normally focused her thoughts on their conversations to calm herself.

She had come to the conclusion that the bean she had found was something that was hard to come by, and that he desperately wanted one. That was why he was so angry with her. She remembered his ire at finding out that she had used a bean (albeit accidentally) and at consequently finding out how she had come across it. If they were hard to come by, it was likely a slap in the face that she had admitted to just stumbling upon one.

Still, he was being petty if he was keeping her locked up just because he was jealous of her bean-finding prowess.

After eating, Belle set the tray by the door and seated herself in front of it. She had her blanket wrapped all around her as she geared herself up for her shouting routine.

She was drawing in her breath when something banged against the door. She squeaked at the sudden noise and scrambled away from the door, getting caught up in the blanket as she tried to stand and stumbling back to the floor with a grunt. When she finally managed to disentangle herself enough to sit up, she found her captor standing in the doorway, his brows raised and his arms crossed over his chest.

Her ears were burning. Belle had meant to confront him with a bit more class. As it was, she had to get rid of the blanket before she could finally stand and face him. She pointed at him. His brows climbed higher, and she could see his amusement. It only made her angrier. He didn’t seem threatening at all after she had deconstructed him so thoroughly in her mind.

“Let me out.”

“No.” He giggled strangely and bounced a little on his heels. “Anything else?”

She sputtered. “No? What do you want from me? Why did you come?”

He made an irritated gesture with his hands as if he was annoyed with the question. He motioned to her. “So many questions! I came to tell you to stop your infernal shouting. It’s distracting.”

Her mouth fell open. “ _Distracting?_ ” she repeated slowly. How dare he?

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Then I’ll keep on until you let me out!”

He frowned at her as though he couldn’t understand why she was arguing with him. Clearly he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. Well so was she, and what she wanted was to not be locked up in this godforsaken dungeon.

“I’ve been feeding you.” He almost sounded like a child trying to defend his naughty behaviour.

“Is that supposed to make me happy?”

He made an exasperated gesture and looked unabashed. “ _No_. What use have I of your happiness?” He said the last word with a touch of scorn in his voice and with a grimace pulling down his lips. Despite her anger, her heart did a funny thing. What had happened to him that he would speak of happiness with such contempt? The look he was giving her pulled her from that reverie and she latched onto what he had said.

“Aha! So you do need me for something!” she cried, pointing at him again.

It was his turn to sputter, and she rejoiced in her small victory. She’d discovered something he didn’t want her to know. He didn’t intend to kill her. She didn’t know why he needed her, but he did, and that made her feel safe. Her triumph was short lived when he stepped out of the room, the door clanging harshly behind him. She expected to hear him laughing, but there was only silence. Had she upset him with her stolen information?

She was once again reduced to pounding her fists uselessly against the door. “Let me out, you horrible little—little—!” her insult fell short as she failed to come up with what he was. She still had no idea and she was too angry to formulate an intelligent slur against him.

Determined, she took up the tray that had been forgotten at the door and started banging it against the wood. The resounding clangs were louder than any screaming she could hope to do, and the violence of the act was what she needed to appease her temper. It was almost therapeutic to watch the scuffs she made on the door. If her shouting distracted him, she couldn’t imagine what this was doing to his peace of mind.

She allowed herself a mischievous grin. Good. He deserved it.

As she was drawing the tray back again, the door suddenly swung open. She stumbled forward before catching herself and jumping back, holding the tray out in front of her. It wasn’t a very threatening weapon, but she wasn’t afraid to use it. It would certainly hurt if she managed to catch him upside the head.

Her captor was curiously absent, bereaving her of a target. She peered out into the hall. Her breath caught. Was he… letting her go? She fled from the room quickly and dropped the tray in her haste, afraid that the door would slam shut in her face if she didn’t seize her opportunity.

Heart pounding in her ears, Belle moved quickly through the winding halls. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew that she had to go up. When she found a staircase, she ascended it as quickly and as quietly as she could. Her shoes hitting the stone were still too loud for her taste, but she ignored the sound to focus on her path. She soon found herself standing in front of a large pair of heavy looking doors. The exit. She was sure of it.

With a bit of effort, she eased one of the doors open. It creaked loudly as opened it just enough to step through the gap and—into the dungeon.

“What?” She spun around and found a wall staring back at her where there should have been a door. A frustrated cry left her as she realised what was happening. Stubbornly, however, she retraced her path two more times even though she knew it was of no use. She tried the other door as well but still gleaned the same disappointing result.

The third time Belle stepped into the dungeon, she let out a vexed huff before starting on her trek upstairs. Magic. That’s what it was. There was no other explanation and she was clearly wasting her time. She ignored the doors this time and set off in a different direction. Her curiosity was getting the better of her and her gaze drank in everything it could. The place was filthy, she realised with a wrinkled nose. There was dust everywhere. It was as bad as her library. It was dark, no lighting except for the sparse torches illuminating her path.

Stepping into what seemed to be the main hall, she was startled to find her ‘host’ sitting at the head of the table. His fingers were steepled before him, his elbows resting on the table’s surface. She approached the table, laying her fingertips on the edge closest to the door and furthest from him.

“You’re really irksome when you set your mind to it,” he commented dryly.

“I know.”

He muttered something she didn’t catch before standing from the table. It was a quick motion that made his chair skid back with a loud noise. She jumped, but stood her ground when he began stalking around the table. His eyes were intent on her and she felt rooted to the spot.

“You’ve discovered that you cannot leave.” It was a statement that rekindled her ire. She belatedly realised that poking at her temper had been his intent when she saw his lips quirk.

“Yes,” she gritted, still irritated that she had spent the last hour trying to get out.

A chill that started at the back of her head and spread all the way down to her toes ran through her when he moved behind her. She knew that if the table weren’t in front of her, he would be stalking around her. As before, he reminded her of a predator hunting its prey. She breathed slowly, trying to stop herself from tensing and revealing how much he set her on edge. She recognized that this was a dance she couldn’t allow herself to falter in. The steps had to be precise if she hoped to gain any footing in the little war he was dragging her into.

“You can have free reign of the castle if it will keep you quiet.” He moved back into her sight, and leaned in close. “If you irritate me, I will throw you back into the dungeons. You will continue to sleep there.”

“What’s your name?”

He blinked, her question and disregard of his rules clearly offsetting him. He pulled away from her and looked at her strangely. “I—it’s Rumplestiltskin,” he said finally. “The Dark One,” he added with a bit of flare, almost as though it were an afterthought.

“What?”

He scowled at her. “Are you deaf?”

“No! I just—Rumplestiltskin. Really? Like the guy who spins gold?”

His back straightened. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You said you weren’t from this land. How do you know of me?”

Belle blinked. “What? Your name just made me think of the story.”

“What story?” he asked darkly.

She spread her hands out helplessly. Why didn’t he know the story if his name was the same? “The one with the miller’s daughter and the imp who spins gold for her and who gets tricked in the end? Everybody knows that story.”

A low growl left him. The sound was much deeper than she had ever heard his voice, and it made her jump. “No one knows that tale,” he hissed, looking like he was barely hanging on to his temper. She seemed to have hit a sore spot within him. His entire demeanour had changed and it reminded her of her first encounter with him. He was like a coiled snake ready to attack.  

“I don’t undertand—“ she cut herself off sharply when she saw the wheel set in the corner of the room. Her mouth went dry. Her brain screeched to a halt before racing into overdrive. “Oh my god. You’re _the_ Rumplestiltskin?”

“That is what I said, dearie.” He still sounded cross, but he seemed to have reigned his temper in, his frivolity resurfacing as the snake disappeared.

‘But… that’s only a fairytale,” she whispered.

“Yes, I’m sure the fairies spin many tales about me,” he replied, seeming to misunderstand her, “but I am very real.” He licked his lips. For some reason, she was surprised that his tongue was as pink as hers. “Sit. You will tell me what else you know of me.”

He spun around, turning his back to her and walking back to his chair. She couldn’t help but notice how light he seemed to be on his feet as he moved. He looked to be weighed down by layer upon layer of armour, and yet it didn’t appear to hinder his movements in the slightest. In fact, the armour only seemed to add to the fluidity of his movements. There was an odd sort of grace in him that was impossible to ignore.

When he sat and turned to face her again, she saw him roll his eyes before he flicked his hand impatiently. The chair at her side was pulled out sharply and she looked from it to him. He made another motion with his hand, as if indicating that she should be seated.

“I won’t bite,” he teased, leaning back in his own chair.

She studied him for a long moment, his statement making her frown. Yeah, he wouldn’t bite… unless she said something that upset him again. Which was very likely. Everything she said seemed put him on edge. She knew, however, that she didn’t really have a choice.

Belle sat down on the edge of the chair. “What do you want to know?”


	4. Chapter 4

Tapping her fingers over the warm stone behind her, Belle sighed luxuriously as steam rose up around her. She could actually _feel_ the tenseness in her muscles fading, the heat loosening her body. As the water lapped at her skin, the chill she couldn’t seem to be free of was slowly unwrapping its icy claws from around her. She wiggled her toes in pleasure, and sunk down in the water until only her head remained above the surface. The vapour made both her head and eyelids feel heavy, and she found herself struggling to remain awake.

The hot spring Rumplestiltskin had tucked away in his castle was as unexpected as it was lovely and she could almost forget where she was if she just focused on the beauty around her. If she tried hard enough, she could nearly convince herself that she was on some trip at an all-inclusive hotel and, after her bath, she would be sent to sleep by some ridiculously muscled man giving her a back massage.

Nearly convinced. But not quite.  She wasn’t on a beautiful beach. She was in a fairy tale character’s castle.

Through half-lidded eyes, Belle surveyed the room. There were little waterfalls gently splashing down from the large stones that made up one of the walls, and her ears were filled with the sound of bubbling water that served to drown everything else out. Her clothes were spread out on the floor behind her, and she hoped they’d be somewhat dry by the time she decided to come out. She doubted it, however, with the humidity and the steam that clung to the air. She should have hung the clothes outside the room to give them a chance to dry.

The idea of being clean again was filling her with delight, so the notion of damp clothing was a distant thought. She only wished for normal soap and shampoo. She _really_ wished for her conditioner. She’d found a few little vials tucked away on a shelf in the corner of the room, and after sniffing cautiously at a variety of them, she’d carefully selected one that smelled pleasant despite its spicy overtones. Once she could get past the muskiness that was apparently inherent to the soap, she could appreciate the delicate vanilla and the even fainter fragrance of roses; two of her favourite scents.

She shifted in the water, slowly moving until she could submerge her ears under the water and keep only her face out. The steam made her exposed skin sweat, but she liked the sensation. True silence enveloped her and she felt herself sighing as her eyes fluttered shut. This was peace. She spread her hair out, feeling the strands fan around her and making sure that each was soaked through.

Her thoughts took a sharp turn towards Rumplestiltskin the more she relaxed and her brows furrowed. He had made himself scarce after they’d had their chat about her world’s fairy tales, and she couldn’t say that she minded the solitude. She didn’t know what he’d thought of her answers, but she knew that there was something hiding behind the wall he put up around himself.

She had time to think and plan without his ominous presence, and she’d spend the last two days examining every aspect of the castle she could reach. There had to be some way out. She felt confident that she’d eventually find something.

She avoided the library, afraid that she’d get caught up trying to read up on her strange host. There had to be different tales about him in this land, and she certainly was curious to know more about him. She tried to recall everything she’d ever read about him, but much of it was surface information and she couldn’t be sure how much of it was true. As much as her curiosity ate at her, she was more focused on finding her way home. Priorities. No one would believe her when she got back, of course, and she was very much aware that she couldn’t expect anyone to listen to her story without casting judgement. She didn’t think she could bring any proof of her journey, and she had already concluded that she would have to keep silent about the entire affair.

Belle sighed again and slowly straightened in the water, standing as she reached for the little vial of soap. She’d have to use it on her body and on her hair. She was unsure if that was right, but she had no one to ask. And she doubted her host would be inclined to give her beauty tips. She had to stifle a laugh at her thoughts as she uncorked the bottle and dumped some of the oily concoction into her palm. Her nose wrinkled just a bit and she just hoped that it wouldn’t do terrible things to her hair or her skin.

Before she could think herself out of it, she brought her hands up to her hair and began working the oil through her thick locks. Her fingers passed through fairly easily, and she was pleasantly surprised that the concoction seemed to be aiding in untangling the curls.

When she was satisfied that her entire head was covered, she set about washing the rest of herself. The more she breathed in the scent, the more she liked it. She hadn’t looked through all the vials, but she only hoped there was more of this one.

Belle spent as much time as she could in the water, simply indulging in the warmth and the soothing fragrances before finally dragging herself out after she was satisfied that she’d rinsed all of the soap from her hair. She dripped all over the floor, but she didn’t think it mattered since it was stone anyway. The humidity would do far worse than she could.

She wrung out her hair as much as she could before reaching for one of the towels she had found. It felt more like a blanket than anything, and the soft brocade woven around the edges of the deeply golden fabric gave her pause. She stroked her fingers over the embossed cloth, her head tipping to the side as she took in the quality. More questions about her host piled on top of her existing curiosities before she shook herself out of it and wrapped it around her hair. The towel she used to dry herself and wrap around her body made her heated flesh shiver and she bit down at her thumb as she looked at her clothes. They weren’t even at the point of being damp yet. They were still quite wet.

Puffing out her cheeks, she gathered up her clothing along with her courage and left the room. She’d have to go back upstairs and weave her way back to the dungeon. Fairly confident that she wouldn’t encounter the man who had been evidently avoiding her for the past two days, she set about returning to the dungeon. She’d like to hang her clothing close to a fire, but the risk of being caught in only a towel had her thinking that she’d simply spread them out over the table she’d maneuvered into her ‘room’.

It was much cooler in the rest of the castle, and she should have thought this through a bit better. She’d always been a tiny bit too impulsive, and when she’d discovered the bath room, her only thought had been one of being clean again.

Muttering quietly, she hurried upstairs, her eyes darting around nervously as she made slow progress towards her final destination. She tiptoed past the great hall, holding her breath as she peaked inside.

“What _are_ you doing?”

Belle shrieked, dropping her clothing, her shoes hitting the floor with two loud thumps. The towel would have dropped too had she not tucked it under itself, but she still clutched at it as she turned to find Rumplestiltskin watching her like a cat. He’d been behind her, standing no more than ten feet away, and she had to wonder how long he’d followed her before making his presence known.

He was grinning at her. If she’d still been holding her shoes, she’d have thrown one at his head. “What does it look like?” she demanded, trying to fight the heat rising to her cheeks. ‘Dark One’ he may be, but he still seemed to be very much a man. She couldn’t be sure with the way the shadows obscured his face, but she thought she could feel his gaze on her. Her legs were tingling, and the goosebumps on her arms had nothing to do with the cold.

His teeth gleamed strangely, and his eyes did the same as he took a step closer. “It looks like you’re prowling naked through my castle.” He flicked his hand towards her, and she squeaked when her hair came tumbling down around her shoulders. The towel she’d had wrapped around her head was now in his hands. Her hands clenched desperately around the fabric of the other towel.

Belle watched with huge eyes as he brought the towel to his nose, and her breath certainly didn’t hitch when she watched him inhale slowly. She pushed down the idea that he was scenting her out on the material and wanted to kick herself as her breath became shorter. What the hell was her problem?

“You’re lucky this wasn’t a hair removal tonic.”

“Why would you keep such a thing in a bath room?” she demanded, breath and heartbeat evening out.  

His eyes were on hers again as he flipped the towel so that it was hanging over his shoulder. He shrugged then and his mad grin returned. “To keep you on your toes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn’t know how, but she knew that he was lying to scare her. There wasn’t anything like that with the soap, but he wanted to make her believe that everything in his castle held a threat. The fact that he tried so hard to put her on her guard made her relax, which probably infuriated him. He was posing, and she could see right through the act. The only question she had was ‘why’? Why did he feel the need to make himself frightening?

Belle had to squeak again when she felt the towel shifting around her, but it died in her throat when cool silk touched her skin. Her eyes jerked down and her mouth fell open as she took in the dress he had apparently garbed her in. The tops of her breasts peaked out from the corset laced tight around her, and she could see blue and white silk. Something about the dress scratched at her memory, but she couldn’t place it. She knew there were shoes on her feet; could feel the extra height the little heels gave her, but she couldn’t see them on account of the dress. She looked back up at him with big eyes. He was trying to hide his smile. The curve of his lips wasn’t like his normal malevolent grin. This one seemed like he was genuinely pleased. The look disappeared quickly enough as he pointed at her wet clothing on the floor. It disappeared in an instant, shoes and all.

“Your clothing was strange.” He wrinkled his nose. 

“You destroyed it?” she whispered, suddenly upset at the thought. Before she could voice her outrage, he tipped his head, brows furrowing, and gestured to the hall. His arm extended gracefully to point, the material of his jacket creaking as he moved. She bit down on her tongue and turned her head to see… her outfit hanging by the fire. Oh. Suddenly she felt terrible for assuming he would do such a thing. Just as suddenly, she stomped the idea down. She couldn’t start feeling guilty about thinking bad thoughts about her captor. “Thank you,” she whispered, despite her wanting to be cold and nasty towards him.

He made an odd noise that seemed to get caught in his throat. His clawed hand passed through his hair and he tugged at the ends before dropping his hand completely when he realised what he was doing. His posture straightened. “I didn’t do it for you.” His voice was sibilant and he seemed to have trouble getting the words out.  

 She didn’t believe him. He knew it. He was a terrible liar. For the first time, she saw something like panic settle on his face rather than the scorn or glee he normally wore before he waved his hands awkwardly. Vulnerability was seeping through his façade, and she somehow knew that the idea of her seeing it was a definite _no_. He all but ran down the hall and she had to stifle a laugh, covering her mouth to keep the giggles from bubbling out.

He was strange, but Belle loved mysteries. 


End file.
